A Taxing Time

As I sit in front of the #TurboTax screen, filling out boxes, answering questions, I see my life in mathematical terms. I am aware of theories that all life can be distilled to numbers, that the basis of computers is one's and zero's, that there is a part of Jewish mysticism that is obsessed with numbers and their meaning. I wish I was more intrigued by them. But now the reality of numbers means how much I pay in taxes. I do not mind paying taxes. I am not one who believes we should not have them. I like driving on paved roads, or at least remember when they were paved. Of course I do not want corruption or overpaying for things. No one likes that. I think that value of money is greater the lower on the income scale you are. Just like the length of a year feels shorter the older you are. Its a proportional thing (numbers again). Wealthy people need to pay more. Simple. It's not like they are not going to still have money for their lives. Stop living in fear. Give it away to make more. But some sense of meanness prevails. "I worked for this you should too." Like everyone is given the same set of skills, or circumstances, or dare I say it, Luck. Ok. Now back to the forms.

Dwell on it

For some reason I appear to have a subscription to Dwell Magazine. Probably received it when I gave money to a NPR radio station, or other worthy cause. I find it to be the most depressing magazine ever. Once upon a time I really liked it. The aesthetic was appealing to me. There was an emphasize on good affordable design. Small green changes to our living spaces. But that was then, and I guess those type of readers don't pay the San Francisco mortgages of the editors. So now we have huge living spaces, all without clutter, I might add. They apparently have large hidden closets to hide their real stuff. Never do they show what a person might do with a real, pre-existing space. Say, for example, a condo in a 40 year old building. Or a person who might, shock, have to rent. And then there is the opposite world. The Small Living movement. 400 square feet or less. Ok I am at a point in my life, where I am trying to get rid of stuff. I sell on ebay, I give stuff away. But really? 160 square feet? I can't even travel with less than that! I propose we find a happy medium between 6000 square feet and a bathroom. Most of us are happy with a few rooms with doors that we can slam when the world gets to be too much. And trust me when I say that leaving your phone in that upstairs back room when you are going out your door, will get harder and harder to negotiate as the body turns against you. So my rant today will end on a plea for sanity. Again I realize it will go unheard.